The Lion of Vegas
by Comics4theFeels
Summary: Marguerite Baggins was just a simple girl from New York who moved to Las Vegas for an opportunity to work lights for Ká, the Cirque du Soleil show situated at the MGM Grand Hotel. She's there for the experience, and no amount of gambling or strippers is going to get in her way. The last thing she expects to do is fall in love with her douchey roommate's brother. (Modern!AU) FilixOC
1. Chapter 1

**I'M **_**BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK**_**! 8D ****Gosh that's a great feeling.**

**So yeah, here we are, with a first chapter that's just not as fun as I want it to be, but hey! It's all exposition! XD Water you gonna do?**

**Note: Marguerite is **_**Frenchyqueen92**_**'s OC, which sounds really weird, using another person's OC in your own story, but I've seen it done often enough and plus I beta her story for her (A Prince's Love, go check it out guys ;D).**

**Warning: Rated T for Kili the Asshole's language**

* * *

Marguerite heard high-pitched giggles and whispers in accented English. She knew making the move from New York to Las Vegas was a bad idea; she'd never admit it, oh no, that would make her cousin Lobelia right and Lobelia being right was _never_ a good idea—but she did know. And now, trying to not stare at all the show girls in their feathery costumes and men in bulging tights, gossiping about all the mishaps and mess-ups that happened onstage tonight while the audience gazed ignorantly, Marguerite felt more awkward than ever.

Marguerite Baggins had come to Vegas to work. Her skill sets included lighting and sound boards, headset repair, and yelling from the diaphragm—a technician. She wanted to eventually become stage manager of her own theater one day, but for now, this was just as good a place as any to start. She only needed to make sure rhinestone push-up bras and alcohol didn't get in her way.

Here she was, a strawberry-blonde girl of twenty-three, weaving her way through the maze that was the backstage of the _K__á_ Theater, trying to follow the stage manager. The man was nonchalantly throwing directions and comments over his shoulder as if she could hear him over all the other noise around her. What a lofty man he was, with shoulders broad as a door was wide and black whiffs of hair. Oh goodness, what was his name? He'd told her when they'd first met, shaking hands after the show that night.

The young woman racked her short-term memory for that tidbit as the stage manager talked about the girl they were heading to meet, her new roommate. Marguerite stopped her search just in time to notice him say, "—odd one, but I'm sure you won't have much trouble. You seem like a no-nonsense kinda girl."

She chuckled. "I try not to cause too much trouble." Just before the silent pause between the two reached an awkward length, it came back to her. "Thank you for showing me around, Mr. Ake. I appreciate it."

"Hm." The manager stopped at a door marked _215_ and knocked, his fist drumming the door like it was a timpani. "Kili!" he shouted. There was no answer. Mr. Ake rolled his eyes and knocked again, shouting louder. "_Kili_!" Still no answer. The manager tucked his clipboard underneath his arm and jiggled the handle so hard Marguerite thought he'd break it off. "He can be rather difficult—sometimes," he clarified, along with, "Kili open the door!"

"_Calm your tits_!" a deep voice sounded from within above the noise of rustling papers and a chair screeching across the floor. Marguerite was sure she heard something heavy fall to the ground with a clang, followed by muffled swearing.

That's when it clicked. Marguerite stared wide-eyed at the manager for clarification. "Wait—'_he_'?"

Mr. Ake looked at her, brows down. "Haven't you been listening to anything I just told you?"

"Mr. Ake," Marguerite defended, hands on her hips, hair steaming, "when we spoke on the phone two weeks ago, I was assured I'd be rooming with another _woman_."

Before Mr. Ake could do so much as twitch a nerve, the door was wrenched from his tanned fist. Leaning in the doorway was a disheveled young man in his mid-twenties. He was garbed in a pair of red camo pants and a stretched, gray wife-beater; dark chest hair surfaced from beneath the plunging collar. Long brown locks lay about his shoulders, framing puppy-brown eyes, and a stubbly frown. "What do you want, Bé?"

"Your roommate showed up." the manager snarled.

The man cocked a brow, seemingly unimpressed. "_Roommate_?" He rolled the world around his lips like an oiled marble.

Mr. Ake fisted his hair. "What is it with you kids these days; don't listen to a damn thing I say—"

The young man's jaw flexed into a grimace and he rolled away from the door. "Ah, _shit_!"

Bé looked ready to impale the kid. He turned to a dumbfounded Marguerite. "Your luggage should be brought up shortly."

Marguerite couldn't believe her inconvenience. "But—"

"No 'buts'!" He sighed exasperatedly. "Look, _as I said before_, this was our only available option. We brought on a few too many back-up dancers before you came, so unless you can afford rent elsewhere, I suggest you learn to adapt. Plus you don't have anything to worry about: Kili's gayer than a mantis shrimp."

Marguerite nearly fainted; she grabbed the door frame for support as Kili froze, heat burning his eyes to cinders. "I am _not_, jackass!"

"Shut up, Kili." He turned to leave then stuck a finger toward the young man's pink nose. "_No_. _Trouble_. I expect you to show her around—_properly_." The stage manager stomped back down the hall, disappearing around a corner and leaving the two youths to sort out any mishaps.

Kili watched him go with a nearly blank expression. "Dick." He turned and retired to the room, picking up the chair that fell over and kicking oily paper wrappers to the side. As he went about throwing personal items—three framed pictures on a dresser, a half-empty cigarette packet, some boxers, and a few other things he got out of an adjoining room behind a white door decorated with skateboard stickers—into a gray, black, and sky blue hiking backpack, he said, "If Beorn had bothered to tell me you were coming, this place would be more prepared, but whatever. You'll cope."

As far as the actual room went, it was larger than Marguerite had expected: fifteen feet square, she estimated. A desk was directly to her right, pushed in the corner of the room; There were stray papers, broken envelopes, an open MacBook Air, and McDonald's wrappers piled high on its surface. Underneath the desk sat a pair of tattered high-tops, partly concealed by a comfortable office chair. To the left of the desk was a large black speaker, big as a mattress, akin to those used in rock concerts that were housed in theaters set to seat thousands. On the back wall, two dressers flanked a chrome bunk bed; the dresser on the left was twice the height of the one on the right and both sported tacky, dingy lamps. Hidden behind each lamp was a shuttered window.

Between the speaker and the short dresser was a door and on the left wall were two other doors, separated by a large oval mirror. In the corner directly to her left sat a cherry red electric guitar that looked like it'd never been used and a small flat screen Samsung. A PS4, controllers and mat of cords were parked next to it. Every spare inch of the walls that wasn't taken up by furniture was cloaked in posters of rock bands and Hollywood bestsellers: AC/DC, Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd, KISS, Marilyn Monroe, _The Avengers_, _Avatar_, _Lawrence of Arabia, Pacific Rim_, and, oddly enough, _Toy Story 3_.

Kili emerged from the first door on the left and Marguerite was able to catch a glimpse of the edge of a sink and lip of a toilet. "I didn't think these rooms would have their own bathroom." she remarked, more to herself than as a conversation starter.

Kili shoved the now full backpack underneath the bottom bunk next to a big black chest. "You're one of the lucky ones. Most people have to suffer with the lower-deck rooms; these have been recently upgraded. Not _only_—" he raised a finger and paused for dramatic effect, "—with their very own bathrooms _but also_—" Standing, Kili reached across the room and opened the second door on the left and the single door on the right to reveal two rather deep closets. "—with closet_sssss_!"

With his bright grin stretched to his hidden ears, arms wide and dazzling jazz hands, Marguerite knew he was a _homme de théâtre_.

When her roommate did nothing else but stare at her blankly, she tucked her wild hair behind her ear and cleared her throat awkwardly. Kili stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned. "That's just great." he said. "They stuck me with a stiff."

"E—excuse me?"

Kili rolled his eyes. "What's your name?"

"Um—" she stepped forward and offered her confident hand. "Marguerite."

Kili's half-lidded eyes stared at her hand a moment, mouth slightly ajar, before he took it as if she were infested with leeches and said, "I'll clean my shit up on Sunday. Don't unpack till then."

Marguerite blinked dumbly and nodded. "Alright."

Noises of a crowd in the direction of the stairwell reached their ears and thrummed quietly on the door frame. Kili made his way towards it and glanced out; he seemed to become excited at the sound of some distinct words that Marguerite could barely register. Shoving on the high-tops and grabbing the brown jacket from the back of the desk chair, Kili said, "Don't lock the door. I'll be back by eight."

Marguerite was about to ask why eight o'clock was considered late (she later realized Kili most likely meant 8 _am_), but the roommate was already gone. The door clicked closed and she was left alone in a strange room in a strange building in a strange city.

A buzz trumpeted from the pocket of her bag. Fishing out her stubby cell phone, Marguerite saw a text from Lobelia. Goodness, what a worry wart! Couldn't she leave her alone for just a day? Marguerite was not in the mood to talk, but she opened and read the message anyway.

**Everything fine?**

No, nothing was fine. She, Marguerite Baggins, was in a metropolis that kept your dirty little secrets tucked away in its pocketbook. She was rooming with a _man_ she didn't even know and _certainly_ didn't trust. What if he brought back "a friend?" She'd be _trapped_. Marguerite felt lost.

**Couldn't be better! :)**

She hurriedly clicked out the reply and placed the phone back in its pocket, standing in place until the bellhop arrived with her luggage.

It was going to be a long journey.

* * *

**I needed a last name for Beorn, so I found "Ake" which is Mikael Persbrandt's middle name.**

**:P gosh this chapter's so bland.**

**But next chapter's better I swear! So much better in fact that I'm giving it to you tomorrow! :D how delightful, right? It includes **_**not only**_** more Kili the Asshole, **_**not only **_**more ****side characters (cannon _and_ OCs), **_**not only **_**a lot of arguments, but also *que drumroll* **_**Filiiiiiiiiiiii**_**!**

**Rate and Review! :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh goodness, this chapter's four times as long as the last one X'D**

**Brief warning: this chapter gets a bit . . . heated? Yes, that is a good enough word. It's not anything _terribly_ bad, I will convince you of that much.**

* * *

As it turned out, Kili was more difficult to live with than Marguerite had first imagined. The man acted like a seven-year-old. He didn't talk much, which in itself was surprising, but everything he did encompassed _noise_. When he wasn't playing on the PS4 (one of his noisiest engagements), he was asking Marguerite if he could borrow her shampoo because his had run out and he didn't have the time to go out and buy another one just yet, or he was cradled in his leather beanbag with his laptop, or plucking away at that horribly out of tune guitar, or blasting Led Zeppelin at six am when he came home from a night on the town, or throwing weirdly shaped birds at green pigs, screaming as they dashed across the screen. He couldn't be quiet for two minutes.

She'd only been there for two-and-a-half weeks and they were already picking at each other like siblings! Someone would take too long in the shower and waste up all the hot water. Someone left their dirty laundry peeking out from under the bed. Someone would steal the other's computer or stuff a hidden surprise in the other's bed. Someone would eat all the food (Marguerite discovered they actually had a mini fridge and a microwave hidden in a pocket between the desk and the speaker). Twice Kili had his Hot Pockets "accidentally" thrown into the wash with his delicates, and twice Marguerite had her face wash replaced with dishwashing detergent.

Kili couldn't clean anything for his life. Sunday night came and sure, the place was clean—spotless, actually. "That was the most cleaning I've ever done in my _liiiiiife_!" Kili remarked when Marguerite was let into the room for an inspection. "You should feel honored, Mimi; I don't even clean that way when I go home." But it was all just a ruse. Marguerite found out he'd given out "favors" to some of the new girls that had come onto the site recently in exchange for a temporary cleaning service. Marguerite shivered just thinking about it.

Marguerite was grateful for a few things, though. Kili oh so graciously gave her the shorter dresser and closet next to the speaker. He'd taken the posters off that place, what he came to call "Mimi's corner" (he didn't take down the KISS poster above her bunk and she was forced to wake up to the damn thing every morning, but it was a small matter. She'd remove it one night soon when Kili was out). She was allowed to hang up a darling portrait of her and Lobelia on her cousin's wedding day. Snoopy as she was, Marguerite loved her cousin. Lobelia was the only real friend she'd kept through thick and thin.

But currently, Marguerite was faced with a dilemma. She'd showered and wrapped her hair in her towel, but she couldn't dress. She forgot to bring in her bra, and there was no way she'd just walk out and get it, decent or not. Marguerite poked her head beyond the door, careful to keep the rest of herself hidden from view, and spied Kili lying on his bed, staring at his laptop screen.

"Kili?"

He tensed and looked to her, glaring slightly.

"Be a darling and get my red bra for me."

Kili scrunched up his face. "Ew."

"You get to willingly touch a bra, what guy doesn't want that?" she tried to persuade.

The corners of Kili's lips rose, baring his canines. "Uh, I'm _giving_ you the bra, not taking it away from you. _Duuuuh_."

"Kili _please_" Marguerite needed to speed things up, all the heat was seeping out of the small porcelain room.

"But your shirt's blue!"

"Why does that matter?"

His nose wrinkled. "You have the chance to match your bras with the rest of your outfit and _you don't do it_?!" Marguerite didn't even know why this was an issue. Sure, she had four bras, and _sure_, they were of assorted colors and textures, but what did it matter to Kili whether she wore her navy bra with her blue shirts or her red lacy bra with attractive clothes or her white bra with her practical clothes or her navy-and-white polka dot bra around the room?

"I haven't worn that one in a while!" she said, flabbergasted that Kili even _cared_ enough about that sort of thing.

"Ugh!" Kili rolled his eyes and closed his laptop. He snatched the lacy article of clothing from inside her closet and handed it to her.

"Thanks dear." she teased, slamming and locking the door before Kili had a chance to respond.

She emerged a little while later saying, "If it bothers you so much, I usually _do_ match my bras." Marguerite ruffled her wet hair, wincing when Kili picked his precious guitar off the floor next to his bed and strummed it. She walked up to him and gave a pained smile. "Would you like that tuned?"

Kili looked at the guitar with lazy eyes and handed it over after a reluctant pause. Marguerite smiled and added, "Don't worry; I know how expensive instruments are."

Kili produced an archaic hacky sack and bounced it from his foot to his hand over and over again as Marguerite leaned against the edge of the lower mattress and began her task.

After a moment of listening to the iconic sound of slapping sand, she asked, "Do you have any family, Kili?" It shocked her how little she knew about him. She didn't wish to appear nosey, but if she'd be living with him for at least the next couple of months, she'd want to get to know him. Marguerite didn't even know the part he played in _Ká_; she knew he was an actor and Kili "stood around and looked pretty."

"_Loads_." He sounded particularly bored by the question, like people asked him about his personal life all the time.

"Immediate?"

She heard Kili shrug and lower himself onto his pillow. "Mom and a brother."

"Large extended family, then?"

A sort of strangled snort erupted from behind her. "You can say that again."

Marguerite didn't press the matter further. Three strings tuned.

"Who is that?"

"Hm?" Marguerite looked up and around. Kili was gazing at the wedding photo. She smiled. "My cousin, Lobelia."

"She getting married?"

"Yup."

"What were you?"

_I see what he's doing,_ she thought. _Time for a taste of my own medicine._ "Maid of Honor. We've always been close."

"She's older?"

Nod. "By about, oh, two-and-a-half years? Yeah, that seems about right."

Marguerite attempted to turn back to her tuning, but Kili's next comment nearly put her into hysterics: "Her dress looks very—"

"_Massive_?"

"I was gonna say 'hefty' but that works too."

"You should've seen the shopping trip to buy the thing." Mimi put the guitar aside and turned to him. Anyone who wanted to hear any of the details concerning Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's wedding was going to get an earful. "We walk into the store, right? You know how an attendant will come up to you and ask what you're looking for in a dress. You know what Lobelia says?" She straightened, placing her splayed fingers on her breastbone, and said in a shrill, sing-songy voice, "'It's going to be my last night of modesty. Make. Me. _Gooooooorgeous_!'"

That was one of the few times Marguerite made Kili laugh. _Really _laugh.

"Lobelia gave her a laundry list of things she wanted: had to be a ball gown; had to be _huge_, the poofier and _furrier _the better; as many rhinestones and crystals as they could muster; loooooong train; sweetheart neckline; plunging back; matching earrings, matching veil; matching _shoes_; oh the list was endless!" Marguerite counted and recounted on her fingers. "The attendant was shocked. She said they only had one dress in the whole place that could've encompassed all those things. She brought it out and Lobelia just burst into tears, gosh she was a mess. She couldn't even put the thing on, she refused to _let go_ of it."

Kili wiped his eyes, smiling. "She sounds like a handful."

Marguerite buried her face in her hand. "Don't even get me started on the bridesmaids' dresses."

Kili looked back to the photo. Marguerite was dressed in a one-shouldered, red mermaid gown; the bodice and the skirt were separated by a line of obnoxiously embroidered flowers of yellow, pink and black. The skirt was made of a smooth shimmering fabric that resembled a sheet of glitter with a thin overlay of plastic; it split into segments around her knees, almost like a star, and the spaces were filled with red organza and black tool, like a layered petticoat around her knees. It was a beautiful gown, all considered. The conspicuous flower on her head was a different story, of course.

"Were they a hassle to get all the girls to agree to the same dress or what?"

"Oh no, all the girls _loved _the dress; Lobelia almost cried a second time. The only problem was the dress wasn't in a _store_." Marguerite let that sink in before she continued. "One of the other girls saw the thing on some show on TV and showed it to Lobelia. We had to get them all custom-made and I nearly walked out of the wedding when they showed me the bill. Thank God her fiancé was there and offered to pay for most of it because I would've rather walked up the isle in _jeans_ rather than spend that kinda money on a dress I A) only wear once and B) am not very fond of to begin with."

"Oh God." Kili chuckled.

Marguerite smiled crookedly and reached for the guitar. "I'm glad you're able to laugh at my pain." she said, overdramatically sarcastic.

Four strings.

They lapsed into what Marguerite judged to be a comfortable silence. It didn't take much longer for her to finish the last two strings. After a quick test, she nodded and handed the instrument back to Kili. "Good as new."

He strummed twice, appeared satisfied, and pounced off his mattress. "I'll play it after the show." Kili said as he placed the thing back on its stand.

"You've gotta leave _now_?" She checked her watch. "It's only five-thirty! Show starts at eight!"

Kili chuckled. "I know. Gotta have all that time for hair and makeup." He grabbed his laptop and bounced out the door.

Marguerite snorted. "Heh. _Actors_."

* * *

Marguerite couldn't believe her eyes. Goodness, she'd been forced to watch the show twelve times now, sat through nearly every rehearsal, and even walked by the dressing room, and _not once_ did the thought come to her. Kili was the _Counselor's Son_!

She scoffed, watching him creep around the stage like a beetle; he was certainly armored like one. Marguerite called over her shoulder for the only real friend she'd made here in Vegas. A strikingly youthful young man who worked in the sound booth above her was swirling his mug of coffee and texting, leaning against the back table. The man always dressed to impress. Black dress shoes as neatly polished as they ever were, not a wrinkle in his maroon sweater or his black slacks. The golden band on his left hand glinted in the dim gleam from the houselights. "Amras!"

The man pocketed his phone and walked over with a gate graceful as water in a pond.

Marguerite smiled and waved a grand hand at the stage. "I'm surprised he doesn't wear that get up all the time, he seems to be enjoying himself."

Amras smiled, a white ribbon of teeth. "You figured it out then." he sounded content.

"I don't know why it took me so long." She shook her head and stared at Kili making googley eyes and discreet hand signals to a man in the third row. Marguerite whipped out her pocket-binoculars and popped them open, fooling Amras into thinking she was getting a closer look at Kili in his outrageous, fake tattoos.

"He definitely would if Marie would let him. Sometimes she gives him the older costumes that have to be thrown out, but that doesn't happen very often. Have you met Marie?" Amras continued on.

Marguerite shrugged, not taking her eyes from the audience. "She work in costumes?"

"Costume Manager. Real sweet lady."

Marguerite wasn't paying the slightest attention to Amras anymore. The object of her investigations happened to be Kili's victim. Bowl-cut brown hair. Fitted black suit. Big round nose. She didn't understand why Kili had picked _this_ man; he wasn't very attractive by any means.

"Ah, how _quaint_."

Marguerite looked at her friend. "What?"

Amras wordlessly held out his hand, asking for the binoculars. She placed them into his hand and he raised them to his face. "That's an Armani suit he's wearing, if my eyes don't deceive me."

"_Who_?"

"The guy we're all staring at!" Amras chuckled. "Kili probably notices it too. _Also_ something he'd do, find the richest man in the room. We just need to hope and pray he keeps his wits about him and doesn't get into too much trouble."

That at least explained why Kili was fawning over him. But Marguerite was still puzzled. "How do you even begin to guess what kind of suit that guy's wearing?" She gazed back at him and focused hard. Nothing about the article portrayed its brand.

Amras chuckled. "If you look closely enough, you see it's not black but charcoal gray, faintly patterned, and has a thin border of leather around the lapels, quarters and pocket flaps. You learn these things when you're married to a model." he added when Marguerite just stared at him. He set his coffee down and handed the binoculars back. "If he turns around sometime soon, we can get a look at his vest or scarf and see how loaded he _really_ is."

"You people judge wealth by the quality of someone's _scarf_?" She couldn't believe her ears.

Amras held up a finger. "Not just quality, my dear." The man pulled up a chair and sat with the back facing the board, arms folded on it gently. "Also pattern, brand, style it's worn in, et cetera."

"You're nuts, you know that?"

His ribbon of a smile appeared again. "Quite."

Marguerite rolled her eyes and stared at the audience a little while longer. She stood up and made herself a cup of hot chocolate from the packets in the drawer and asked over her shoulder, testing the drink to ensure it wasn't too hot, "Out of pure curiosity, how much do your crazy-fancy Armani suits cost?"

"Normally around sixteen or eighteen hundred, but I peg that one at thirty-five." Amras sipped his coffee.

There she went, choking on her perfect hot chocolate.

"Oh, Marg, that's nothing. Other suits jump from forty-two hundred to forty-two _thousand_ faster than you can spit. Plus no one wears the fifty-thousand dollar suits anywhere but fashion shows—they're just too valuable. If this guy's got an Armani that's only thirty-five, chances are that's the pool he always shops at, so he's not likely to have anything more expensive, but it's a decent start."

Marguerite downed a glass of water before she could wheeze again. "Dear God, some one's dumb enough to pay _fifty thousand dollars for a suit_?!"

Amras shrugged. "Hey, when you've got a shit-ton of money, what are you gonna do with it?"

* * *

After every show there always seemed to be an after party. Considering her options and various circumstances that ranged from highly likely to incredibly impossible, Marguerite constantly opted to stay back at the room and "stand guard" as Kili so kindly put it. What she chose to do with her time by herself was, by the crew's standards, utterly boring. She moved the KISS poster from the ceiling to the rungs underneath her mattress (she'd like to see Kili's reaction when _he_ woke up staring Gene Simmons in the face). She took her shoes off and frolicked around the room, cleaning up her things and throwing Kili's into a large neat pile all while singing away to some generic pop song. She busted out her shoebox of stray papers and scissors and tackled the first step of the art of 3D origami: _folding the damn pieces_. They weren't terribly difficult to make, they just took up an unseemly amount of time and patience.

Marguerite was well on her way to fifty pieces when she stopped and looked at the clock. 10:00. About a half-an-hour since the show had ended. That's when she heard it: a large crash out in the hall, as if someone had dropped several of cinderblocks onto an bent, rusty spring board. She rushed to her feet and opened the door.

There was Kili with a dazed, caramel-haired, Armani-clad youth on his chest; in their hands were a half-empty bottle of vodka and an open but barely drunken bottle of bourbon. Both were giggling like hyenas. When Kili's head fell back on the carpet, he caught sight of Marguerite, standing in the hall and looking at him like he'd turned into an alien before her very eyes. "_Kili_?!" she shouted. "What are you doing?"

Marguerite saw Kili whisper something to the kid before he gently rolled off the actor's chest. Kili got to his wobbly feet as he said, "I was wondering if we could get the room fer the night, Mi. I'm suer yer not doing anything important—"

Kili stopped flat when he saw the horrified look on his roommate's face. He started for her just as she dashed in the room and slammed the door. Jarred by the impact of colliding with the broad wooden board, Kili leaned against the opposite wall for a moment to gain his senses, stoppered and rolled the vodka to the youth, and approached the door. "_Mi_—"

"You're not coming in, either of you!"

Kili was getting angry now. "Mi, it's just for a few hours; you can find something else to do—"

"I said _NO_ you asshat!"

Kili needed a moment to regain his bearings; he wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Sure the doorframe looked a little wobbly and he couldn't count to save his skin, but he was pretty sure Marguerite hadn't just called him an "asshat." Talk about being off—maybe _she_ was drunk too! That's it: she wanted to keep her own booze to herself! How terribly selfish.

"Mimi open the door." he demanded.

"You must be _high_ to think I'm going to just let you in—you and your date can find somewhere else to screw around!"

Kili's date—his name was Ori, if he remembered correctly—was beside him now, cuddling the alcohol close to his chest. His cheeks were dusty pink and his hair was a bit frazzled. He offered, "We—we can go somewhere else, Kili—"

Kili bent down and left a sore, slobbery patch of skin on the youth's neck. Ori did his best to maintain all the dignity he was about to lose as Kili pulled away and breathed into his ear, lusty and hot. "_You're sexy_, remember that."

Ori nodded in a bobblehead-like fashion, thunderstruck as a lamb, as Kili turned back to the door and gave it a mighty shove with his shoulder. His roommate gave a shriek and the door gave about a foot, definitely enough space for Kili to get his knee and shoulder inside. She was yelling incoherently at him, trying to force the door closed, but Kili squeezed past the barrier and made it into the room. The door closed behind him with a bang; he was lucky not to get his ankle caught (what a mess _that_ would have been).

Ori was left all alone and awkward in the hallway, missing the warmth of Kili's breath on his neck, as a maelstrom of screams exploded in the secluded room. He was in the middle of taking a swig of the vodka—nasty stuff, by his taste; he was used to much richer flavors—when a figure appeared at the end of the hall. Coughing as the figure came closer, Ori cleared his eyes and flattened against the wall, hoping the man would just walk past and not linger around the scene they were causing. The chance that this person would have anything to do with him or Kili or his angry roommate was slim to absolute nothing, so why bother to worry?

He reached up to loosen his Coach scarf and the button of his Armani jacket when the impossible happened: _the figure stopped right next to him_. The newcomer glanced at the door a moment, no doubt coming up with some incredibly imaginable situation concerning the level of muffled screaming floating from beyond the door, and then looked back to Ori.

"Do you know if a guy named Kili is in there?"

Ori took another swig of the vodka. This just couldn't be happening. He knew that crazy actor was trouble, why didn't he listen to Dori—? "He's in there now."

The stranger gave a prompt "Hmm." and settled beside him, leaning against the wall with his arm crossed in the manner that Ori's older brother Dori would call "the cool cat." There was a pause for a moment, then, "How do you know him?" It wasn't hostile by any means, just curious.

"I—I j—just met him t—tonight." Goodness, it was getting hot.

"Hmm." The stranger seemed to consider his response.

"How d—do you know 'im?" Ori asked, trying his best to be polite, though with all this alcohol buttering his tongue, he was surprised he had enough power to grab a hold of it properly.

Before the stranger could answer, the door was wrenched open. Kili was red in the face, as if a nuclear war were raging inside him. He took one fiery look at Ori and then shifted slowly to the stranger. A reverent look of dumbstruck awe came over his face. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

The stranger shrugged, blue eyes wide and mouth stretched. "I just came by for a chat, but I can see you're—" he gestured to Ori and then towards the inside of the room "—busy, so I'll take my leave—"

"_No_! Wait!" Kili's desperate tone and waving hand stopped the man in his tracks. Kili looked back and forth wildly between the stranger and the room; he held up a hand and disappeared around the edge of the door.

A furiously confused voice came from within. "Kili—Kili what are you even—Ah—_HEY_!"

Kili was back within thirty seconds. In his arms he held a young, frazzled young woman clutching a black leather purse. They entered into a quick exchange: Kili threw the woman out into the hall so forcefully the strange man had to lunge to catch her to ensure she didn't fall flat on her face and dragged young Ori into the room behind him. "Take this crazy ass with you." The brunette instructed. "Give her a good time; she shouldn't be too much trouble—oh! She's wearing her sexy bra tonight." he added.

Marguerite was climbing to her knees at this point, trying to break free of the stranger's arms. Kili looked down at her and wagged his nose, backing into the room. "Don't wait up for me, _princess_." And slammed the door with such force it could've shattered to splinters.

"_Kili_!" Marguerite, with a fierce battle cry, threw her weight at the now-closed door and pounded ferociously with her fists. "_Open this damn door right now, you little piece of shit_!"

Marguerite struggled at first when she felt strong hands on her sides. The hands came back, picking her right up and swinging her around so she faced the opposite wall. She turned furiously to face a man that had not been with the two lovebirds when they first showed up. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded. Marguerite Camilla Baggins was in the mood for no more surprises tonight. Before the man could answer, she waved it off, "Nevermind." and sidestepped him, intending to go back to her incessant pounding.

He grabbed her by the waist with both arms and picked her up again. She kicked and screamed until he set her down before him again. "_Don't_." he said in a masculine tone that portrayed wisdom beyond years, grip on her arms pinning her in place. "Kili's most stubborn when he's horny. We'd be lucky if he decided to talk to us within the next 24 hours."

Seeing how his words served to calm her from her crusade, his hands slid down until he could pick up her own flaming hands and bring them level with his breastbone. He examined her hands as Marguerite examined him. Everything about him reeked of strategic organization, but a kind that was the result of genuine personality, not a craze. He was wearing one of the most expensive but nicely worn jean jackets she thought she'd ever lay eyes on; goodness, she'd thought _leather_ was classy. Meeting men with hair longer than hers was always a weird thing to deal with. His golden dreadlocks were surprisingly neat and down to his shoulder blades. His French cut beard and mustache was the same matching gold. As far as height went, he towered above Marguerite, but he was shorter than Kili; perhaps about 5'10".

"You'll have bruising in the morning." were the results of his observations.

"What are you, a doctor or something?" Marguerite sounded harsher than she had intended, but before she could make a move to apologize, the man looked up and fixed her with a stare so penetratingly blue her knees quivered.

"Major in architecture, minor in sports medicine." he said gently.

For a moment there, Marguerite nearly forgot she'd asked him a question. "Oh." She berated herself later for acting so dumb.

His lips quirked into a smile so gently heartwarming Marguerite couldn't help but smile back. She hardly cared that he was still holding her already-aching hands as if they were diamond flowers.

The stranger released his grip on her fingers and after a moment of not even noticing, Marguerite took them back and pulled her purse onto her shoulder. She needed some paper to fold, her heart was beating a little too fast for her liking. "What are you doing tonight?" the stranger asked.

Marguerite was flustered. She tried to regain her composure and defensive dignity by saying, "Um—I had nothing planned but I'm quite sure I could find an active engagement—"

"The reason I ask," he cut her off and she barely even minded, "is because I think it's only fair that you have an enjoyable night after the treatment my brother gave you."

Marguerite was just about to confidently agree when she stopped and gaped. "_You're_ Kili's _brother_?!"

He chuckled, a charmingly one-sided smile surfacing to grace his already pleasant face. "Indeed. And you must be Mimi?" He offered his hand, palm up. "Fili."

"_Marguerite_." she corrected, remembering this time to sound polite. She took it, fully expecting another weak handshake, but stared in green-eyed surprise when Fili bent at the waist and kissed it. When he straightened and smiled again, she let a thought slip out. "Are you sure you're related?"

Fili's grin was full-faced this time and _oh wow_. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

* * *

**I had to cut the chapter in half because it got too long :( oh well, date coming up soon! :D**

**Because Kili's obviously an Angry Birds addict XD**

**Lobelia's a part of this story because I love her to pieces XD She'll have a more involved influence in later chapters, of course, but for now :3**

**Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay for a friend-of-a-friend's OC! Amras is originally an elf thought up by **_**Just give me a name**_** :3 And Hiddles-sweaters are obviously how I envision Modern!Amras XD I think I made Amras more of a classier fashionista than he should be . . . . BUT NO MATTER!**

**Don't we all just love Kili's logic? "She never swears; she can't be **_**angry**_**, she's **_**obviously**_** trying to keep us from the booze so she can have more for herself!" XD**

_**FILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**_** *zrooms around like an airplane* I'm always going to make references to Fili being a type of cat, and everyone's gonna get so sick of it, it's gonna be great XD**

**Did any of you detect the discreet reference to **_**A Fondness for Flowers**_**? Anyone? "**She hardly cared that he was still holding her already-aching hands as if they were diamond flowers.**" Muahaha, I'm so clever XD **

**Rate and Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**IS THIS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE POPULAR**

**I'm so happy you're surprised to like this fic, dear readers ^w^ I know it sounds incredibly cliché and stupid, but that just goes to show I write good stories with sucky summaries :3 Hey, what are you gonna do with a 300 character limit? X3**

**My friend who's currently in Vegas says hi to y'all! :3**

**Gosh I hate writing dates 8P Ugh, enjoy a full chapter of small talk, everybody!**

**(Awkward Kili is awkward. I hope I never have to write it again.)**

* * *

Fili escorted her to a café in the Signature Towers. When they first rounded the corner and walked in, Mimi could not help but be wowed by the design of the café. The pale floors stood in perfect contrast to the ceiling that swirled with all manners of dark colors, giving the whole space a comfortable feel.

Mimi was in the process of soaking it all in, distracted by the Van Gogh facade, when she happened to overlook the leg of a nice chair sticking out. Spectacularly tripping over something so obvious wasn't something she did normally, but Marguerite saved herself from some of her infamous self-lecturing, reasoning that she'd had a rough night and anything with cheer was a willing distraction from all the screaming she'd just done.

"Whoa, watch yourself!" Fili smiled, lunging to her rescue, but Mimi righted herself just in time. Thank God the only other person in the café was the woman behind the counter.

"That've been the second time you've caught me tonight." she joked.

Fili laughed. "Well, just to make sure you don't fall again, why don't you pick a table? I'll order a pizza."

"Sure."

"Pepperoni fine?"

"Yeah."

He waltzed to the counter ahead as Mimi looked around and chose a table relatively close by. And there she sat, facing the door through which they walked, recounting her luck. After being forcefully removed from the space she and Kili shared, she'd ended up with his _brother_ (what were the _odds_?!) who just so happened to be exactly the opposite of his ill-mannered counterpart. Kili was just an asshole, now that she thought about it. And Fili—oh where did she begin? He was chivalrous, he was charming, he was handsome, dashing, courteous, genuine, sincere, polite. _What a gem_, Marguerite thought. She laughed: she was spending the next couple of hours with a darling gentleman who bought her pizza when she wasn't in the least bit hungry and Kili—ha, what a loser—Kili was . . ._ having sex with another guy back in their room_.

"Oh my God." she cringed, running her fingers through her hair as her previous anxiety returned and hummed in her chest. "What am I doing?"

"Sitting?"

Fili startled her. Marguerite craned her neck to look up at him, wide green eyes cautious and pleading.

He offered her a small plastic bag. "Gummi Bear?"

She stood and pushed the bag of Bissinger's Gummi Bears back towards him. "Look, I really appreciate what you're doing, but I'd be much more comfortable if I knew Kili wasn't . . . _having fun_ around my things—"

Fili placed a gentle had on her shoulder and pressed it gently, urging her to sit down. She did as he bade as he moved to sit across from her. "You're looking at the Kili expert." He gave a quirky smile and opened the bag, popping a bear or two into his mouth. Setting the bag in the middle of the table, Fili said, "Kili's not going to mess with any of your things. He may act like an ass all the time, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily ignorant of the value you place on your possessions, even if it's something he thinks is meaningless. Your things and personal space won't be violated; I can assure you of that."

"You talk like you're not even related." Marguerite stated skeptically.

The edges of Fili's mouth turned down, as if in consideration. "We're still alike in many ways. Back in high school we were much more alike than we are now."

"What made him change?" Mimi asked curiously. It occurred to her that _Fili_ might have been the one to change—in other words: he was most definitely _not_ this charming to begin with (which made Mimi wonder what could have had such an influence to make him transform personalities so drastically)—but Fili locked onto her, expression firm.

"I don't think it's my place to tell you that."

Marguerite was stunned. The edge of secrecy hidden in his eyes alarmed her. _Were they in a gang or doing drugs and someone died or something?_ was her initial question, but she threw it aside and bowed her head awkwardly. "Sorry."

Fili brushed off the heavy atmosphere with a calm shrug. "No need to apologize."

_But I was practically prying into your personal lives!_ she wanted to say. "What were you like in high school?" Mimi winced; how was that any _less_ nosey?!

But the question seemed to bring the mood back up to its usual cheer. Fili smiled wide. "We were both _incredibly_ charming." He emphasized this by putting on a snobbish accent and tightening his imaginary tie. Mimi couldn't help but giggle. "But not so alike as to impersonate clones. Kili liked to party, I liked to drink black coffee and write papers at 3am."

Mimi nodded knowingly. "Oh, you're one of _those_ people." she marveled snarkily.

Fili wheezed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm pathetic, I know."

They shared a laugh and Marguerite reached for a Gummi Bear. Fili cocked his head, dreadlocks swaying. "What were _you_ like in high school?"

"_Moi_? Oh I was . . ."

Fili leaned in closer, liony grin quirking. "Yes? You can't be any worse than me."

Mimi looked off and rubbed her craning neck. "I was . . . stringing out colored DNA using gel and electricity."

"Biochem?" Fili sounded sincerely interested, which surprised Mimi. People usually just nodded and moved on with the conversation; something so advanced and utterly complicated as biochemistry could turn into a bit of a . . . _lofty_ subject sometimes. She nodded sheepishly, rubbing her bare arm. Goodness, it was cold. "And you went into theatre?"

Mimi raised her hands in surrender. "What can I say, I like telling people to shut up and get their act together."

Fili swallowed his fresh hand of bears and asked, "What do you do in _Ká_? Kili mentioned something about the tech crew."

The server arrived with their pizza. Marguerite moved the flower vase from the center of the table to make way for the metal stand the waitress placed the pizza on. "I work lights."

"Do you? That must be entertaining."

Mimi tested the edges of her plate, steaming hot from the dishwasher. She welcomed the warmth seeping into her freezing hands. "It allows for visible creativity without the audience admiring the artist."

"Stage fright?"

"A little." _Liar_, Marguerite bashed. Humiliating herself in front of her whole high school nearly stamped the seal on her application to Cornell University.

Mimi grunted and fell forward a little when an unexpected weight fell across her back. She looked up at Fili, who smiled gently and sat, straightening his black long-sleeved polo shirt. He'd placed his jacket across she shoulders, and even as she spoke, Marguerite's fingers abandoned the plate at the edge of the table and clutched at the seams of the warm, thick fabric. "What did you—"

"You're obviously colder than I am." He smiled, picking her plate up from where she had set it. "And I don't blame you; it's a little chilly in here."

Marguerite murmured her thanks and pushed her arms through the tunnels she assumed were sleeves. She thought of how ridiculous she must've looked: the jacket was nearly three times her size, dark grayish-blue the color of a stormy sea, and lined with a fabric so smooth and so warm she melted into it. Marguerite could barely fathom any man being able to fill all this space—that is, until she took a closer look at that silky polo shirt sitting three feet in front of her.

To say the piece of clothing fit well was . . . an understatement. Fili was more muscled than he had at first let on. The shirt was thick though, so all she could really see were the muted curves of his arms and pecs, but . . . _goodness _did they look trimmed. There were only three buttons below his collar, the first of which was open, baring the base of his neck and jointure of his collarbones. The next button down looked like it might snap.

Marguerite didn't even notice Fili caught sight of her ogling. If she'd been paying attention like the waitress staring over the edge of the counter, Mimi would have noticed Fili make a slight show of his breathing. Every time he inhaled, his shirt stretched just a little bit more; every time he exhaled, his shirt returned to normal.

Fili kept a close eye on Marguerite. When all she did was continue to stare, he cleared his throat and leaned over the table, placing the forgotten plate of pizza off to the side. In a hushed, rather timid voice, as if he were wading into unfamiliar waters, he prompted, "I can take the jacket back if I'm too must of a distraction."

Marguerite treated the statement like any normal piece of information she'd ever been given. "Oh no, that's alright, I—" She blinked once before clapping a hand over her mouth. The rate at which her face turned red was alarming, and Fili hoped she didn't explode at the seams. "_Oh my_—I—" she stammered and wavered like a bar of melting chocolate. "_I am so sorry _—I—I didn't mean to—"

Not knowing what else to do, Fili pushed her the pizza. She happily shoved a mouthful between her cheeks and appeared to shrink beneath the cover of his jacket. Marguerite wished she was _anywhere_ but here. The ideal cure for her predicament was a dark, long-forgotten corner in which she could crawl and die of embarrassment. Mimi had just _openly stared at _this man she hardly even knew and she'd never let herself forget it.

When she _dared_ look up again, Fili was smiling, albeit a little nervously. "Sorry." He chuckled.

Marguerite shook her head fiercely. "I should be the one apologizing; I'm the one who stared in the first place—"

He waved as if swatting a fly. "I don't mind." Fili caught himself a moment later and he could feel the heat pool in his cheekbones, willing it to appear less severe than it felt. "I mean—"

"I get it." Mimi cut in, hand darting from her side to his in a second. She gave it a gentle squeeze and nodded half-heartedly. Fili returned the gesture and they parted.

Fili was just about to take a bite of his own slice of pizza when Marguerite asked rather suddenly, "Kili tells me you've got a big family." Fili stopped and looked at her, pizza half-way to his mouth. "From the sound of it, I guess you see them a lot?" She was trying her damnedest to get the conversation up to its natural pace of calm, inviting small-talk.

Fili gave her that blank stare a moment longer, taking the time to blink sluggishly, before he chuckled once, taking a bite from his pizza. Thank God he wanted to end this awkwardness as soon as possible too.

"Every major holiday, or what?"

He swallowed his mouthful of cheese and bread and smiled, readjusting his grip on the food. "Try every _day_. We can barely avoid each other."

"How is that even possible?" Marguerite's _extended_ family was quite large, but most of it was made up of people she was barely related to and didn't even know. The only members she spent enough time with to really call "family" were her cousins Lobelia and Bilbo.

"My uncle is the CEO of one of the hotels here on the Strip. Maybe you've heard of it: The Lonely Mountain?"

Marguerite nearly choked. Dining with what was practically Las Vegas Royalty and she was inquiring about his _high school life _and _making eyes at him_?! "I've glimpsed it a few times." she admitted. "It's the _only_ mountain within a hundred mile radius; 'lonely' really is the perfect word, I'd say."

Fili nodded in agreement. "Uncle has this habit of hiring everyone noted on the family tree. It's lead to a few skirmishes between the different sides of the family, but never anything drastic. We're rather archaic; 'charity begins at home!' they always say."

More pleasant small talk was exchanged as they finished off both the pizza and the Gummi Bears and—_thankfully _—the rest of their evening passed by without any more incidents. Fili looked at his watch as the waiter took away their dishes. "Kili's bound to be done by now, if you'd like to head back."

"Yes please," she said, picking her purse off the tiled floor. "The sooner we can put my mind at ease, the better."

* * *

Kili still didn't want to come back to the world of the mentally sober. Draining the last of the bourbon, the actor considered the events of his night. He'd have to get Ori to come by more often.

Speaking of the little devil, he was nowhere to be seen. Kili propped himself on his elbow, scanning the room for any sign of the businessman. He was sure he hadn't fallen asleep, so where had the little bastard gone? Concluding that the room looked exactly the same as it had right after he and Mimi's skirmish just an hour-and-a-half earlier—even if he could barely see a thing due to both the alcohol and lack of light—Kili sighed and flopped back onto his pillow. He cringed when he laid eyes on the horrid face of Gene Simmons—God, what terrifying face paint—but the flicker of a yellow post-it note caught his attention.

Kili plucked the sticky paper from the poster and straightened, but try as he might to read the scribbled letters, his foggy eyes wouldn't let him. He huffed and put the post-it back on the poster, sinking to the floor and searching for his sweats.

As he pulled his pants on, Kili noticed the muffled conversation out on the hall. He blessed his wonderful decision to unlock the door right after Mimi and Fili had departed. Fili entered the room alone, flipping on the switch and sighting Kili in an instance, lying where he was trying to scramble back up to his mattress without the use of his legs.

"Do you need a lift, Your Highness?"

Kili didn't even seem to hear him. "How'd it go?" His tongue was thick, like he was trying to talk with a whole sausage stuffed into his mouth.

Fili moved to open a window. "Well." He moved on to the next window.

Kili stopped moving and stared, thinking hard. "'Well'?" he repeated. "_Welllll_? What—you didn't kiss?"

Fili cocked a brow at his intoxicated little brother's incredibly disappointed tone. "No."

Said brother sputtered, glaring at the sheets balled up in his fists. "You—you didn't—_I thought you'd like her_!" Kili was thoroughly upset. Stupid big brothers didn't know how to give stupid girlish roommates a nice time.

"I do."

"Well then _what's the problem_?"

Fili turned on the ceiling fan. "I just _met her_. And I'm not fond of one-night stands."

Kili pouted and aggressively struggled to pull himself up to his pillow. "Uuuuuugh! You're _impossible_!"

"I'm not impossible. I prefer a chase. Unlike some people."

"Oh shut up!" Kili threw his pillow at his elder brother; Fili caught it almost absentmindedly and tossed it right back.

Walking to the desk, Fili scribbled something on a sticky note then let Marguerite in. Kili gawked at her. When had she gained so much weight—_oooooooooooooooooh_! He got it! He looked to Fili and tapped the side of his nose. Even in his highly delirious state, Kili knew what his brother was doing.

Fili handed her the sticky note and said, "Give me a call if he acts up again."

Mimi took it, wide eyed and ignorant, and nodded a small "Thank you."

"No problem." Fili gave her that high cheeked smile and brushed past to the door, fixing Kili with a you-know-what-to-do glance, before letting himself out.

Marguerite watched him go with glazed eyes. Looking down in her hand, she studied the set of numbers Fili had oh-so-wonderfully handed her—

"_Oh my_—"

Kili looked over, brows cocked. "Can you keep it down over there? Some of us are _trying_ to _sleeeeep_."

"_He just gave me his number_!" she hissed, flapping the post-it in Kili's general direction.

"_And_ a reason to contact him." Kili smiled but stopped when Marguerite just stared at him in confusion. He motioned to the jacket she was not aware she was wearing.

Mimi face-palmed. "I'm such an idiot." _I fell victim to his charming . . . -ness._

Kili snuggled under his covers. "Nooooooo comment, darlin."

"Do you think he noticed?"

"He likes you anyway." Kili gloated, almost triumphantly, though he was almost certain Mimi didn't hear him snicker.

Mimi sputtered. "He just met me!"

He yawned. "Fili likes pretty girls."

"I'm hardly pretty tonight—just look at my hands! Look what you made me do!" Mimi stomped over and offered her knuckles up as evidence, but Kili didn't bother to turn around. "You'd call that attractive?"

Kili shrugged, quite ready to end this pointless conversation. "You can ask him next time."

"Next time?"

"Well either you return his favorite jacket in the history of the universe or I cause some more trouble."

Marguerite didn't say another word.

* * *

**Omg 5 pages of small talk, shoot me now, how did I ever write all that?!**

**I went to Vegas **_**once**_** and here I am writing a fic about it XD In reality, I remember that café closing at like 10, but for the purpose of the story it'll close later :3**

**ALL OF THE DISCREET PUNS MUAHAHAHA**

**I just looked up colleges that offered a Doctorate in Biochemistry and picked the first one I saw that wasn't a pain to write XD**

**Don't we all admire Marguerite's **_**very discreet**_** ogling of Fili XD I certainly do. I wish my buff guy friends would wear nice shirts. Or jeans. *sigh* Nobody's perfect, I guess.**

**Rate and Review! :3**


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